Page 6 of Enemy Kisses

I wave off his offer because he’s an intimidating guy—if he’s not working, he’s at the gym—and I don’t want to misstep with our new neighbor any more than I already have. “Nah. I’ll let it go this time. If it happens again, I’ll head over there and deal with it.” I spin the laptop back around and pull up our staffing schedule. We spend the next thirty minutes working through the schedule for the next two weeks and then separate to prep for opening.

“Morning, boss.”

“Hey, Miss Sylvia. How’s Mick?”

“He’s better today. Sorry I had to leave early yesterday.”

“No problem. Family first. Always.”

“Thanks, Finn.” She points over her shoulder. “I’ll get the chili started.”

I smile at my cook. She’s been working here since I was a kid. I’d occasionally come and sit in Dad’s office during school vacations, and she’d have me “taste test” her cooking, but it was really an excuse to feed me because that’s what she does; she feeds people and takes great pride and satisfaction in her work. “Thanks, Miss Sylvia.” She told me to drop the Miss, but I can’t—it feels disrespectful.

I head to the storeroom to check the inventory, noting the items with low quantities, then wander back to my office to place an order. The time before the pub opens is always busy with the amount of prep that needs to be done. There isn’t a minute to waste.

* * *

For the past five mornings, I’ve arrived at work to find a heap of trash piled at our back entrance, and today is no different. It’s like Groundhog Day. I get that Harry somehow thinks I have control over what my patrons do after hours, but this has gotten out of hand. Blaze has a short fuse and is probably angrier than I am about what’s been happening. I’m worried he’s going to go off the deep end, so I quickly clear the mess before he arrives. I’ll find time to visit Harry today; this has to stop. I glance across at the rear of the café, just as I have each day, hoping to catch someone so I don’t have to go inside. I don’t want to make a scene in front of customers if I can help it.

A group of our Tuesday regulars—who come in to enjoy lunch and a couple of beverages after their morning bowling competition—wave as they head out. “See ya next week, guys,” I call from where I’m wiping the bar. Checking the time, I glance around and figure now’s as good a time as any to head next door. I’m not sure when they close, but it must be almost time. “I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” I tell Macy. She’s the best cocktail bartender I have. Women, in particular, come from far and wide for her concoctions, while men come far and wide to watch her because she’s beautiful.

“No problem. I think I can manage the two suits in the corner.” She smirks.

I raise my brows. “I bet you could.”

She throws her head back and a raspy laugh escapes her. The two suits look our way, and evenInotice the look of appreciation in their eyes. Stepping out into the bright afternoon sunlight, the heat almost sears my nose hairs. Fuck, it’s hot out here. I forget how hot it gets outside during the day. By the time I leave work in the early hours of the morning, the city is considerably cooler.

When I arrive next door, I stop short when I spot customers entering the café. A petite woman wiping the outdoor tables notices me. “We’re closing in ten, so if you want something, you’d better head inside.”

I glance through the windows regarding the line and decide to come back in thirty. “Thanks.” I raise my chin toward the counter where a beefy guy—who I’m guessing is Harry—is serving the customers while a woman with chocolate-colored shoulder-length curly hair and a gorgeous smile makes coffee. “I need to chat with Harry, so I’ll come back.”

Her friendly expression turns into a frown. “Sure.”

I wander up the street to the market and buy an apple. I rarely keep fruit at home because I spend barely any time there. Sometimes I wonder why I have a place when I spend so much of my time at the pub, but I need somewhere to sleep, I guess. I peruse the other market stalls and find a new stall that specializes in candles. Mom goes crazy for candles, so I stop and smell a few, hoping to find one I think she’ll like. They all smell a little chemical-y to me, so I pass. Mom won’t like them.

Checking the time, I think I’ve given Harry enough time to close, so I wander back toward the café. As luck would have it, he’s out front, packing up the tables and chairs. Approaching the guy, I hold my hand out. “Hi. I’m Finn Brady, the owner ofBrady’s Pub.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder toward my building.

He immediately scowls at me. Standing straight, he ignores my outstretched hand and crosses his beefy, tattooed arms across his chest. I’m not sure what I was expecting a café owner to look like, but this wasn’t it. He looks like he should run people through a military-style gym routine, not sell pastries. “You’re the asshole from next door.” He takes a menacing step toward me, and I take a step back. I can hold my own if I need to against someone around my size but I’d have no chance against someone like Harry.

The woman from earlier steps outside. “You’re back.” I nod and before I can say anything, she continues. “Harry’s inside.”

Huh? I thought I was speaking with Harry.

I look back at Mr. Muscles. “You’re not Harry?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

Right. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ll head inside, then.” Let’s hope Harry’s a little less intimidating.

Opening the door, I step inside to find the woman I saw making coffee earlier and make my way toward the counter. When she notices me, her smile is instant, and it looks even more spectacular up close like this. “I’m sorry we’re closed, but if there’s something in the cabinet you’d like, I can easily wrap it to go for you.”

“Sorry. Not a customer. I’m here to speak with Harry. Is he around?”

She tilts her head to the side, and her bright gaze, which reminds me of springtime grass, studies me closely. “And may I ask who you are?”

I realize how rude I’ve been, so I hold out my hand. She slides hers into mine, and I swear a tingle of electricity shoots through my fingers and makes its way up my arm. I snap my eyes back to hers to see if she felt it too, but there’s no sign she felt anything. “I’m Finn Brady. The owner of the—”

She snatches her hand from mine and narrows her eyes at me. Those sparks I was feeling in my hand are now shooting from her eyes. “Pub next door,” she snaps. “The man who thinks that what happens down our street and to the surrounding businesses isn’thisproblem.” Her words are laced with venom as she folds her arms across her chest, drawing my eyes down to her moderate-sized breasts—anything more than a handful or mouthful is a waste anyway. A smirk touches my lips. “You think that’s funny?”

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